


Connections

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Life After Meteor [5]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: BROTPs abound, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-Series, Preventers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AC 199 offers a time for rekindled relationships.  Trowa surprises Quatre with an unexpected visit, but tensions continue to build between them.  Duo begins training with the Preventers' EXFIL program and the camaraderie between him, Wufei, and Heero grows.  Meanwhile, Heero and Relena reconnect over her 19th birthday, and Noin and Sally check in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 5 of the [Life After Meteor](http://archiveofourown.org/series/391015) series, which trails the Gundam Pilots (and others) through the years post-war. Welcome comments/feedback.

**7th Floor Atrium Lounge, Preventers Headquarters  
** **Geneva, Switzerland**  
**199 January 19**

“I hope you found that as thrilling as I did,” Heero muttered as he sidled up next to Wufei as the group filed out of the large conference room. The intelligence assessment, conducted by one of the sister bureaus to his own, had been characteristically vague and mildly menacing. 

Wufei fought back a grin. “Cheer up Heero – clearly we know what we don’t know, we think.”

There was a dry huff that passed as a laugh at that. “Have you eaten?” the other man asked. Wufei suppressed his knee-jerk reaction to bow out with grace and heard himself agreeing to lunch in one of the small cafés set up throughout the complex’s hallowed halls.

But as they approached the elevator bay, they found a familiar figure in the expansive atrium lounge hunched over something in his hands, his braid curling on the cushioned bench beneath him. When they drew closer, Wufei found Duo alternating between studying the blue trifold in his hands and flapping it as if it were on fire – in both cases, his thoughts seemed sour based on the faces he was making.

“What are you doing up here?” Heero asked, drawing Duo’s attention away from his reading material.

The young man looked up at them and offered a meek smile. “Waiting for you?” he attempted, and then thought better of it, smirking. “I needed to get out of the cubicles so I could think.”

“What are you reading?” Wufei asked, shifting the locked pouch he carried to his other hand. Duo apparently registered the unspoken request because seconds later he tossed the folded paper at him. Wufei caught it before it could veer off course and over the balcony railing. He glanced down to read the white header text. “Pilot program.”

“They’re recruiting,” Duo told them. 

Wufei frowned not liking the other’s tone – it sounded…defeated, almost. “You’re going to go in for it, of course.” Duo shrugged, not meeting their eyes. “Oh, come on. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Too young, for one,” the other shot back.

“Your file should read ‘18’ by now,” Heero reassured, dropping down to sit on the edge of one of the lounge chairs opposite his colleague and roommate. Wufei took the hint and sat as well, busying himself for the moment reviewing the brochure – the sheer number of requirements for prospective applicants was mindboggling. “And if you’re still listed as a minor,” Heero continued, “I’m sure someone somewhere in this building can… _correct_ that.” Wufei couldn’t stifle the chuckle that rose at the words.

Duo shot him a bitter look. Wufei cleared his throat in response, and passed the paper over to Heero. “Seems odd to me that they’d let you in the field but not let you fly – something which you’ve arguably been doing far longer.”

“It’s not just that though,” Duo acknowledged. “We just got off our probationary period, man. I’m not a baby agent anymore! Means they give me my own damn cases to run down. Why would I leave that just as it starts getting interesting?”

“Because you come up to the atrium to clear your head, for one,” Wufei intoned, an eyebrow rising as if in challenge. Duo didn’t have a ready response to that.

“These are combat missions,” Heero observed, still scanning the text before him.

“Not all of them,” Duo answered. “There’s supply runs and personnel relocations and all that. Also,” he added, his smile devilish, “it’s ‘peacekeeping,’ not ‘combat.’”

Heero turned the brochure around to face Duo and tapped insistently at one of the items on a bulleted list. “I would categorize ‘infiltration’ and ‘exfiltration’ as combat mission support operations. Peacekeeping or no, those pilots are likely shot at somewhere en route.”

Duo shook his head. “There’s no way they’d put me on those birds.”

“You sure?” Heero asked, incredulous.

“I would,” Wufei told him. “Admittedly, I don’t make the staffing decisions, but I’m fairly certain you exceed the basic requirements on that list. That’s a very specific set of skills they’re looking for.” When neither of the other two men spoke, wrapped in their own thoughts, he asked, “What’s the worst that could happen, honestly?”

Duo laughed darkly and finally sat up straight, bracing his hands at his side against the bench cushion. “Well. Based on our time at training, some asshole could piss me off and I could put him in the hospital. Maybe I psyche out and fail the tests. Maybe they just don’t like my attitude and send me back to the Mothership…but because I left _right after_ my probation ended, there’s no job for me. Or maybe I put a very expensive machine in the dirt with lots of fire. To name a few.”

The three of them shared an uncomfortable silence for a moment. But then Heero turned to Wufei and asked, “What’s that phrase you all use? When you estimate with high certainty that something’s _not_ going to happen?”

Wufei smirked, “‘Almost certainly not.’ Still gives you a five-to-seven percent window that we’re wrong.”

“Five-to-seven percent,” Heero mused. Turning back to Duo he acknowledged, “Not bad odds, given your record.”

“My ‘record’?” Duo shot back, the first real smile of their encounter edging its way out into the light of day.

“Sure. All things considered,” Heero explained, his face unreadable, “I’ve put various flying machines into the ditch more often than you have.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Reception Hall, Diplomatic Enclave  
L4-V05001  
199 February 12**

The reception was in full swing in the enclave, L4’s notable leadership and influential players rubbing elbows with the Foreign Minister and his colleagues. Men in expensive business suits or embroidered thawb circled through the hall, cradling in their palms tumblers of cocktails or juice concoctions depending on their individual prerogative. Women in bright hijab mingled with others whose hair fell loosely about their shoulders, pinned back from their face with elegant combs. Relena flitted from conversation to conversation. In every circle she joined, talk was of long-term trends for trade three years after the colony-wide sanctions had been lifted, policy reform of the ESUN that could grant L4 a permanent seat on the Council, and rumors of potential candidates for the next election.

It was a jarring transition from her last post. Fear and excitement vied for attention as they thrummed through her veins. She wanted nothing more than to talk to these people – her new constituency – and learn their thoughts, their concerns, the opportunities they saw for the future of L4; but she knew if she stayed much longer amongst the throng, she risked her face splitting in half, she was grinning so hard.

And so, having done her time on the floor, she fled silently to a balcony away from the crowd inside. She massaged her jaw with her fingertips, hoping to relax the muscles that had locked in place for the better part of two hours.

It was thus that she found herself in the company of one Quatre Winner, who was leaning heavily on the balcony railing, staring down at the gardens several stories below. He didn’t seem to have noticed her entrance, lost in his own thoughts. She thought it odd that the heir to an empire, and primary supplier of the Preventers, was hiding from his colleagues.

Curious, she stepped forward, her heels ringing like gunshots on the stone tile below. When he glanced up, she paused. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He offered her a tired smile, recognition and relief flooding his eyes. “Not at all, Miss Darlian.”

“I didn’t see you at the L4 Business Council meeting last month,” she intoned, drawing up next to him. “I was sorry to miss you.”

“I’ve found that my attendance at those sorts of gatherings make my other industry colleagues… _uncomfortable_.”

“So you sent your subordinate?”

“I try to avoid the trappings of ego in my business dealings – my COO is perfectly capable, and is likely more in tune with what we are doing on a daily basis than I am.”

Relena resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest – she feared it would make her appear petulant – and settled instead for wrapping her fingers around the balcony railing, her right thumb drumming some elusive beat. “Mr. Winner, I have the distinct feeling that you’re avoiding me.”

He hung his head in defeat at that, and laughed heartily. Straightening, he pressed a hand against his chest. “I assure you, that’s not my intent.”

“So you won’t skip the next meeting I invite you to?”

His smile softened at that. “If you insist. I would note, however, that if you put that awful phrase, ‘non-transferrable’ on the note, I will be obligated to attend, won’t I?”

Relena smirked. “I suppose so, Mr. Winner.”

“Please,” he urged with a wince, “Quatre is fine.”

“Only if you agree to call me by my first name.”

“Hierarchy, Miss Darlian, hierarchy,” he chastised her with a smile. 

They passed a moment in shared silence, both hiding from the goings-on inside. A mutual understanding of constraints and propriety kept them from speaking their minds. As her mind began to wander, Relena’s thoughts turned to the item in her handbag. 

“I was wondering…” she began, dropping her voice to a murmur which caused the man to lean closer to her. She could feel herself faltering, but took a breath to steady her nerves. Reaching inside the clutch, she gripped the data reader with the air of someone making off with the Hope Diamond. 

“I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to pass a message to a mutual friend of ours,” she continued and took his hand in hers as she had seen other guests do, and saw something spark in his eyes when he palmed the message clip from her grip. “I’m afraid I’ve lost touch,” she continued, “and it would be wonderful to hear from him again.”

Quatre’s gaze softened at that, and something akin to empathy crossed his face. Withdrawing his hand, she saw only that the disc had disappeared, presumably on his person – the sleight of hand made her smile. But then he was speaking. “I’d be honored, ma’am. It will be delivered with the utmost importance attached.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Unit #1312, Preventers HQ Subsidized Housing Complex  
** **Geneva, Switzerland**  
**199 February 13**

Heero watched as the message came in on his computer and sighed, the status bar clicking slowly, ever so slowly, across the bottom of the screen. “Quatre, what are you doing?” he hissed.

Behind him, Duo asked, “What is it?”

Heero started, remembering suddenly that he was not in fact alone in the apartment. He had grown so used to the other man’s regular absence with Duo spending more time at flight school than at home since joining Preventers’ EXFIL [1] program. “Quatre’s sending a message,” Heero told him.

“So? What’s so odd about that?”

“Nothing, in and of itself,” Heero replied. He turned away from the computer in an effort to tamp down his growing impatience with the delay. “The message is triple encrypted.” The two of them considered this fact in silence. “It must be important,” Heero mused.

“Or maybe he’s just bored,” Duo offered in return.

Heero couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped his lips, but then the computer beeped at him to let him know that the decryption process had been completed. The folder that opened on the desktop revealed a number of files, which was not Quatre’s normal correspondence. Opening the text file aptly named, “READ ME FIRST,” he skimmed through the other man’s exposition before opening the accompanying video file.

“Hi Heero.”

“ _That_ doesn’t sound like Quat,” Duo observed, springing to his feet and walking over to join him. 

“It’s Relena,” Heero replied, adjusting the volume as Duo leaned heavily on the back of his chair. Meanwhile, the woman on the screen commented about the difficulty of talking to a camera and the irony of it, given the press coverage of late.

“No shit,” Duo muttered. After a moment, he observed, “She looks tired,” the humor gone from his voice.

And she did - the edge she had, the power that hummed below the surface…it was missing somehow. But she was beautiful, too, her hair still falling about her shoulders, the video feed hardly doing justice to the brilliant blue Heero knew those eyes to be. 

“It’s hard to believe that I spent a year trying to find you,” Relena continued, “and now, now that I know where you are, I’m just now reaching out to you. I never even got a chance to properly thank you back then. You were in the wind too soon…

“I…I miss you, Heero.” The admission took him aback. In the silence that followed – for Relena seemed to have slipped into her own thoughts – he felt rather than heard Duo withdraw, the creaking floorboards giving away his toe-to-heel whispered steps. 

“I’d like to see you,” she told him, “to hear how your life has been, what you’ve been up to, if…if you’re happy.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth, shedding the last four years like a veil. “I’d like to think you’re happy. You deserve it more than most.”

He watched her shake her head, pulling herself up to her full height, regaining composure. “I’m recording this hoping Quatre will be able to get it to you. If so, I’ll be sure he has my contact information in case…in case you want to reply directly.” She laughed bitterly then. “I assume you won’t – our systems are monitored – but, if you felt so inclined…this way you could.

“I won’t waste anymore of your time, Heero. I just wanted to send you something to let you know that…that I’m grateful to have met you, for everything you’ve done, and…and that I hope you’re doing well.” She smiled, a shadow of her past self, and he watched her reach forward seconds before the feed died.

He sat silently in the desk chair, drawing a leg up and wrapping his arms around the raised knee. How long had it been, truly? He had lost consciousness shortly after setting the sights of his gun on Mariemaia. He vaguely remembered the familiar _click_ of an empty chamber, the slide of the weight of the weapon slipping from limp fingers, the tunnel vision centered only on the blond girl in a dusty, rose-colored suit. 

He woke up some days later, nameless, in a nearby hospital. He had fled shortly thereafter, tailing her caravan for a time, his watchful eye on potential threats. When none came – and her security detail doubled – he returned to L2.

Nearly four years since they had first met. Roughly two years since they had last laid eyes on one another.

“You should send her a response, ya know.” Heero turned to find Duo had returned, leaning against the wall of the hallway which led to their bedrooms. “Maybe go see her.”

“Do you think so?”

Duo gave him a look he couldn’t decipher, but then he laughed and told him in no uncertain terms, “Yeah, I think so. Why wouldn’t you?”

“OPSEC,” [2] he answered, deadpan. Duo rolled his eyes in response, turning away with a dismissive wave of his hand and muttering something under his breath.

Turning back to the computer, Heero pulled up Relena’s contact information and logged into one of his email accounts – the one on the slave network that Trowa had pulled together for them after the war. Just in case. He typed up a quick reply, and hoped the L4 VFM’s firewalls wouldn’t delete it before it reached her. At the thought, he went back in to mask his email address, just to be sure.

\----------------------------------------------------------------  
From: Office of the CEO (inquiries.scheduling@wei.org) [3]  
To: vfm-pol3@ofml4.org  
CC: quatre.r.winner@wei.org  
Subject: Message Received

Acknowledged. How does your April look?

HY  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] EXFIL as in ‘exfiltration’ or alternatively extraction. In military tactics, this refers to removing personnel when it is considered imperative that they be immediately relocated out of a hostile environment and taken to a secure area.
> 
> [2] Operations security or “OPSEC” is the process of protecting little pieces of data that could be grouped together to give the bigger picture, thereby compromising operations and/or activity.
> 
> [3] Heero’s actual address would have read as “user01@sat-2.net,” which, let’s be honest, is highly suspect. Would you open an email from that address? I don’t think so…


	4. Chapter 4

**Headquarters, Winner Enterprises  
L4-V05001  
199 March 12**

“Sir, you have a guest,” Naeem, his new assistant informed him as he approached.

“A guest?” Quatre asked, wracking his mind for a missed appointment.

The younger man nodded. “He was on the ‘short list,’ so I let him go in.” He paused and seemed to reconsider the wisdom of that. “I hope that wasn’t presumptuous, but he was on the list—”

“It’s fine, Naeem,” Quatre reassured him. “Thank you,” he added, stepping inside his office. Closing the door behind him, he was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

Trowa Barton was clad head to toe in black bike leathers, his feet propped up on the corner of his desk, heavy black boots crossed easily at the ankles. “These financial reports are _phenomenal_ ,” Trowa said, leafing through the packet. Glancing up at Quatre, he added, “You guys are doing really well.”

Quatre shook off the initial wave of surprise from seeing the other man lounging in his office chair and strode forward. “I didn’t know you were coming,” Quatre admitted, taking a seat on the corner of his desk. Trowa shrugged and set the reports off to the side. Lifting his feet up and off the polished lacquer surface, his bike leathers creaked and sighed as he shifted. Quatre bit the inside of his cheek to keep his mind focused on the conversation and not…other things.

“The winter tour wrapped up over in L1 this week and we have about a month before training starts up again.” 

“Ah, that’s right – it’s March, isn’t it?” Quatre muttered, feeling suddenly embarrassed. God knew he wasn’t the one in charge of his schedule – that impressive duty belonged to the young man outside his office. “But I thought you were going to Geneva.”

Trowa shrugged. “Wufei has been working double-time – I guess his boss is out – and Heero’s crashing on closing out some case. Meanwhile, Duo’s out on the tarmac daily with pilot training and is – according to Heero – not sleeping very much as it is. Didn’t want to add anything else to their plates.”

Quatre did laugh at that. “So you figured I’d be less busy?”

“No,” Trowa countered, shaking his head, “I figured you’re the type of person who’d take in a stray. And since I’m currently without a home or a bed, you wouldn’t turn me away…”

“As if I could,” Quatre said, reaching out to run his fingers through the other’s auburn hair. “…as if I’d want to,” he added, the words grinding out between his lips.

Trowa caught the tone and Quatre watched his eyes darken. Unspoken needs passed between them for several breathless moments before Trowa offered a predatory smile and said, “I promise to be quiet if you will.” Pushing up and off the office chair, Trowa twisted the other man’s tie in his fist, deftly switching their positions until he was trapped between the desk and Quatre’s fraying self-control.

Quatre glanced over the other man’s shoulder at the door, hesitant. “Come on…” Trowa ground out, ducking his head forward to press teasing kisses below the other’s ear. “No one is going to barge in – they wouldn’t _dare_ – and you don’t seem the type to have security cameras running in your own office. Although,” he amended and Quatre could feel him grinning against his jaw, “you could always keep it for posterity’s sake if you did…”

Quatre leaned into him then, and let his partner draw him closer, could feel the other’s hand working on his belt…. 

Reaching across the desk, he pressed the button that connected the speaker to his assistant’s phone. When the young man answered, Quatre instructed, “Naeem, hold all calls for the next hour or so. And please do not let anyone in – I’d like to clear some time on my calendar to catch up with Trowa.” 

“Certainly, sir,” the assistant answered before Quatre disconnected the line.

Beneath him, Trowa chuckled. “‘Catch up’ indeed.”

“You’re such a bad influence,” Quatre reprimanded, moments before he kissed him.

"You like me this way," Trowa murmured when they parted.

"I like you _every_ way," Quatre corrected, feeling the other man laugh against his lips moments before he drew back only to turn Trowa around and push him back down against the desk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Vice Foreign Minister Darlian’s Residence  
L4-V05001  
199 April 7**

Relena had sent a car for him and although he appreciated the gesture, Heero had deftly walked by his designated shuttle port greeter, the man’s eyes searching the throng of recent arrivals as Heero slipped passed, his eyes downcast on his cellphone’s blank screen. When he showed up at the gates of L4’s ESUN diplomatic enclave without a cleared vehicle, he paid the taxi driver and continued into the complex on foot to spare the man the time it would take to search his car. As he walked through the various security checkpoints, he kept his Preventers badge close – a suggestion Duo had made, which he had thought unnecessary at the time. With a repressed sigh, he eventually pinned it to his chest to avoid further undue attention to the fact that some unknown entity had just entered the complex on foot with a duffel bag.

He did eventually reach the VFM residences – four cottages tucked into a far corner of the enclave with manicured gardens and small trees that at least attempted to offer a sense of privacy – without too much hassle. He suffered through a final checkpoint before he was deemed “cleared” for the main foyer of Relena’s personal residence. 

Upon entry, Heero was greeted by who he assumed was a butler and a young woman who introduced herself as Relena’s special assistant. When they offered to take his things, he politely refused, hiking the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder and keeping his fingers wrapped tightly around the worn band. The young woman’s brow furrowed at this and she hesitated only a moment before she signaled for him to follow her up the staircase to her right. As they ascended, Heero couldn’t help but think he’d perhaps derailed her choreographed plan. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to still the smirk that was brewing.

The assistant explained when they reached the second floor that Relena was on a conference call, but wanted him to make himself “at home” until she could get away from her official duties. Turning right down the hall, she showed him to the guestroom and excused herself shortly thereafter.

Finally alone, Heero relinquished his grip on his bag, letting it slide from his shoulder to the bed. He sighed deeply and, interlacing his fingers, he stretched his arms overhead, feeling his shoulders pop as he did so. Leaning off to his right, he winced when his left shoulder twinged, a symptom of deeper damage he’d carried for the past four years.

Straightening, he took a look around. The room was sufficient. Suitably small for colonial living, but not cramped. He’d do a proper sweep for bugs later, he decided – they had passed what looked like a library en route, and that seemed a far more interesting use of his time while he waited for his host. 

Leaving his room, he back-tracked their steps and did indeed find a library. Small, but comfortable, the shelves fully stocked and set into the walls themselves. He perused the spines, which varied from political theories of states’ rationality to Greek epics and Sherlock Holmes. Pulling a heavy leather-bound tome down, he leaned back against the shelf and started to read.

He made it about halfway in when the library doors opened, and Relena Darlian stepped into the room.

She looked older, certainly filling out the role of a junior minister in more ways than one. It made him think about his own awkward transition into adulthood over the past two years – his legs suddenly too long for his slacks, as if they’d grown overnight, his shoulders too broad for his shirts. When their eyes met, it seemed to him she had been sizing him up in much the same manner. Clearly caught, she flushed and smiled and said only, “Hello, Heero.”

Snapping the book shut, he responded, “Relena,” turning to put it back on the shelf with its brethren while she shut the door behind her.

“Please, sit,” she urged, gesturing to one of the lounge chairs nearby as she took a seat herself on the small couch in the corner. “Can I get you anything?” she asked as he sat down. “Coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

They shared the silence that stretched between them, each uncertain on how best to begin. At last she said, “Thank you for coming. I’ve missed you.”

He wasn’t sure how best to respond to the admission. “I was…surprised to hear from you. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, of course,” she responded, a bit too quickly, as if she’d grown accustomed to the question. Then she confided, “I didn’t mean to give the impression that something was wrong. It’s just…I wanted to know how you were, what you were doing.”

She was lonely, he realized. And so he talked, telling her of his year with Hilde and Duo after the war, of joining the Preventers and all it entailed. As he spoke, he watched the tension ebb from her shoulders, Relena eventually kicking off her heels and tucking her feet under her as she leaned closer, hanging on stories of concerts in grungy L2 basement bars and agent exploits in equal measure.

When he came up for air, she asked, “What do you do in your spare time?”

He considered this before answering, his tone more uncertain than before, “I like…watching people. In the gardens or parks. I like stargazing, too. Duo goes up to our roof every night – it’s become a ritual for him, I think. He doesn’t mind if I join him.”

“Do you still write at all?”

The question startled him. “How—?”

“I remember watching you write pages and pages while we were in school together. You were doing the same in Sanc.” She shrugged. “I always thought you seemed to enjoy it.”

Heero looked away, his eyes settling on his hands in his lap. He stilled the fingers which had subconsciously begun to worry the seam of his jeans at the knee. “No,” he told her, “I don’t write anymore. Not like I used to.”

“You should,” she told him, “assuming you still enjoy it.”

He considered this and she left him with this thoughts for a time. She was right – he had filled volumes with the words that tumbled from his head: a child’s commentary on social order and flawed judicial systems one day, poetry the next. He vaguely recalled some escapist tale of time travel and redemption. He never kept them – it was impossible to do so – but his heart had ached watching the pages burn in countless motel sinks and metal trash bins, the words succumbing to the fire that consumed them. 

At last, he murmured, “Maybe…I should.”

She smiled at him and stood, padding over to the desk, still barefoot. “I’d hoped you would say as much.” Opening a drawer, she withdrew a journal and, walking back over, handed it to him.

“But – why—?”

“Consider it a gift, a token of appreciation for coming all the way out here to see me,” she told him, taking a seat once more.

Heero turned his attention back to the journal, his hands running over the spine. Opening it, the book spanned the width of his lap, and he stroked the blank lines with reverence. 

A bitter thought came to him then. “I didn’t bring you anything.”

She waved off his concern. “Having you here is a gift enough.”

“But it’s your birthday,” he reasoned. Closing the journal, he clasped his hands on top of it. “What should we do?”

It was a simple question, but Relena eyed him warily. At last she murmured, “Promise not to laugh?”

“Of course.”

“I want to go down to the riverwalk [1] and eat shaved ice. Then I want to get dinner at this small restaurant that has a total of eight seats that I’ve had my eye on to try, and if there are no seats left, I want to sit on the curb with my fattah and watch the cars go by.”

“So let’s do that,” he said, standing.

“Heero…” she began, sounding defeated, “Heero, I can’t do any of that. Not without a full security detail. And I’d attract too much attention.”

“Oh,” he uttered, sinking back down onto his chair. They sat in silence, her with her dejected acceptance, him with his roiling thoughts. He glanced at his watch – nearly 1800 – and asked, “Can you give me an hour?”

“For what?” she asked, confused.

“You’ll see,” Heero assured her, standing once more, setting his journal gently on the end table next to him. “Only an hour. Possibly less.”

“Alright,” she acquiesced, rising to her feet as well. “I’ll occupy myself somehow,” she told him, with a wink.

Heero nodded and headed for the door, grabbing his jacket off of the stand in the corner as he beat a hasty exit.

52 minutes later found him sliding into her study, several bags in tow.

She stood from behind her desk – Heero assumed she’d been working, which only served to solidify his resolve. She braced her hands on either side of her desktop as she rose, ogling the cargo. “What on earth – what is all this?” she asked him, stepping out from around the desk to investigate.

As she crossed the room, he began unloading onto a nearby settee – a dress, a belt, some glasses, and some hair dye which had come highly recommended by Quatre via a hasty text message exchange en route to the shopping center. 

“Heero…?”

“This,” he told her, “is what a good friend would call, ‘busting you out of here.’” He picked up the hair dye and she cut in before he could explain.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s temporary.”

“Yeah, after a few weeks.”

“It’ll wash out in a couple days if we don’t leave it in for long – I asked an expert,” he told her. Before she could ask the question forming on her lips, he pressed ahead, “It’s also Friday night – do you have any meetings this week?”

“Heero, my whole _life_ is meetings.”

“But the public kind,” he amended, “with press.”

At this, she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “No,” she admitted at last, hesitant.

He was winning. “We only need to go a few shades darker. _Just_ enough to throw off the masses.” He watched her waver for a moment before finally leveling the playing field with, “Do you trust me?”

Her eyes flashed at that, and her smile returned. Snatching the dye package from him, she grabbed his hand and hissed, “Let’s do this.”

An hour later found her spinning in the middle of her bedroom for him. Her hair – now a soft chestnut – fell about her shoulders in uncharacteristically gentle waves. The red plastic rims of the glasses, filled with simple glass lenses, were perched smartly on her nose. The dress fit (for which he was grateful – he had had to guess), the loose material cinched in at her waist.

And she was grinning. He couldn’t remember _ever_ having seen Relena Darlian _grin_.

“So?” she prompted. “What do you think?”

“You look like a university student.”

“…that’s good, right?”

“That’s very good,” he told her. Crossing to her dresser, he picked up a basic leather clutch and tossed it to her. “Let’s go.”

“But the guards—” she started, bounding after him as he crossed to her bedroom door and ducked his head outside.

“And likely surveillance,” he interjected, glancing up and down the empty hall.

“How did you plan on getting us out of here?”

Taking her hand, he motioned for quiet and pulled them both out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind them. He led her down the hall to one of the access corridors, and then onward down an emergency staircase. It led to the house’s kitchen, which they darted quickly through and out the back to the turnabout that serviced her and the other VFM’s residences. As they approached the guard shack at the back gate, he felt her fingers tighten in his own, her second hand coming forward to wrap around his wrist.

As they passed by, Heero offered a quick, “Thanks Umar. I owe you.”

“Certainly, sir. Have a good evening Miss Darlian.”

They were about a block away before the initial shock finally wore off and she sputtered, “H-how—?”

Heero reached into his pocket with his free hand and flashed his Preventers badge before tucking it safely out of sight once more. “Opens more doors than you would think,” he told her. He added sheepishly, “I also may have lobbied his romantic inclinations a bit hard…”

“So if rumors start floating that there was an attractive man at the residence all weekend…”

“Duo regularly tells me to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”

“And you thought this was as good a time as any to put that into practice,” she observed, releasing his hand and opting instead to take hold of his arm just above his elbow.

He took her as quickly out of the diplomatic district as possible, cutting through the colony’s nearby university campus via a hole in the fence he had noticed students using earlier. From there, he let her guide him, leading them deeper into the expansive commercial districts. The streets were packed as people flowed from their towering office buildings to the Circulator platforms. Relena avoided the throngs, taking them instead through the parks and labyrinths of side streets until they returned to the main drag just as it split like a second skin and a veritable river – the colony’s lifeblood – flowed out from below.

They paused on the bridge to watch artists and vendors and civilians alike move along the banks below. Heero doubted many of them fully comprehended the magnitude of the architectural marvel they traversed. Flowing water on a colony. Only in L4.

“I see him!” Relena said suddenly, pointing downstream. Heero followed her line of sight to an older man with a cart roughly a city block away. “Come on,” she urged, taking his hand in hers and leading him down a nearby staircase to the water below.

Upon approach, Heero watched the man spade a small mountain of snow into a paper cup. His eager customer pointed at bottles of colored liquid labeled with crude, hand-drawn images of fruit, which then found a home on the ice, dying it various shades of red, orange, and blue. Heero had never seen such an odd thing. He was happy to let Relena order for them both when it was their turn, but when she went for her clutch he stepped forward. “No, it’s your birthday,” he told her. “This is on me.”

“But—”

The protest died on her lips when the vendor laughed. “If it’s _your_ birthday, my dear, it is _most certainly_ on him.”

“Thank you,” she told him as they walked away. Heero shook his head and spooned some of the colored ice into his mouth with some skepticism. It was sweet, almost obscenely so. He swallowed with a hum of deep thought and consideration…and then promptly did it again. Relena laughed and did much the same. Between bites, she asked, “It’s good, yes?” to which he could only nod in response.

After a block or two, pausing to observe the occasional street performer or chalk artist, they sat by the bank, their legs crossed under them. He asked her then, “Of all the things you wanted to do, this was it?”

“Don’t forget about dinner,” she corrected, “but yes.”

“Why? If I can ask…”

At this, she lowered the cup into her lap and studied the water, gathering her thoughts. “I live on an L4 colony and I do enjoy it here. But so often I’m removed from everyday life. I’m set aside, and I observe. Very rarely am I ever _part_ of it,” she told him. “I wanted to be part of it tonight.” And then she added with a smirk, “Also, life is unpredictable, so one should always endeavor to eat dessert first.” The comment earned her an incredulous laugh from him as they returned to their flavored ice.

“Excuse me?” came a voice to their left. Beside him, Relena jumped and Heero felt himself bristle. Looking up, they found themselves approached by a girl, young, possibly only just barely in high school, her phone outstretched as a peace offering. “Would you mind taking our photo?” she asked, gesturing behind her to a cluster of youths about her age.

Relena glanced back at him with an excited smile. He dutifully took her shaved ice to free her hands as she stood with a gracious, “Of course,” and followed the girl over to the assembled crowd.

After the group had departed with words of thanks, suitably photographed, Relena rejoined him at the bank and took back her melting cup of red and orange ice. “I think you passed the test,” Heero informed her, watching the backs of the retreating cluster of students. None turned back for a another look at them. 

“Which?” she asked. “That I can take a photo, or that none of them recognized me?”

“The latter,” he intoned. “Always the latter.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching the L4 residents pass them by, none of them giving the two of them a second thought. _If only they knew_ , he thought, taking another bite of the ice and letting the taste of manufactured fruit melt on his tongue. Glancing over at Relena, he asked, “Shall we keep going?”

She nodded, her lips puckered as she sucked on the ice she’d just spooned into her mouth a moment before swallowing. “Probably. I’m not sure how late this place is open. L4 eats late, but just in case…”

Pushing himself up onto his feet, Heero dusted his hand off on his jeans before offering it to Relena and helping her stand. “Which way?” he asked, to which she gestured generally downstream. 

They strolled, unhurried, along the manufactured stream, reeds and stepping stones artfully placed in key areas. He wondered idly if there had ever been plans to install a similar apparatus on the other colonies. His thoughts turned to L2 and quickly decided no, probably not. _They would have dyed it a bleeding red, given half a chance_ , he determined.

“Are you finished?” The question jarred him from his thoughts. Glancing down at his cup of watered-down syrup, he nodded. She took it from him without ceremony and dropped both of their cups into a nearby compactor before leading him to a staircase which took them up and out of the riverwalk to the street above.

It took some time to leave the business district. They walked until the buildings around them gradually mutated from corporate bastions to apartment blocks. And then these apartment blocks grew larger, tighter… “Where is this place?” he asked her at last.

“Not much further,” she assured him.

“How did you find it?”

“I didn’t. My assistant did.”

At this, Heero found himself reassessing the woman he had met earlier in the day. Before he could comment, Relena paused beside him at an intersection with a smaller road. She hesitated only a moment before decisively turning left down the side street. Within a block, they found it. 

Barely more than a store front, the restaurant accommodated a small crowd, most of whom Heero watched took their food to go or sat on the curb, just as Relena had described. The menu was as sparse as their available tables, and so he eyed the plates around him as he followed Relena to the counter. Their orders were no sooner placed than received, passed to them in segmented takeaway packaging.

Heero followed Relena back out onto the street where she promptly joined the crowd, dropping to the curb, her legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles in the empty street before them. 

“I didn’t realize you were vegetarian,” she commented, eyeing his order as they tucked into their dinner.

Heero shrugged. “Only about…70, 80 percent of the time.”

“Ethics, or…?”

“Force of habit,” he told her. “Meat is hard to come by on the colonies, with the some exceptions, clearly,” he amended, gesturing back at the restaurant behind them. “Usually, that means you’re wealthy enough to pay the tariffs on imports from Earth or L1.”

“But trade’s been opened for a couple years now. Surely the prices have come down.”

“Yes,” Heero acknowledged, “but that doesn’t change the fact it’s not the norm for most people. Transportation costs alone increase the cost beyond what the average colonial is willing to pay.”

Relena considered this. “Fair point. I’ve seen markets and grocers fully stocked here and in L3. I didn’t make the logical step that both may have been exceptions, rather than the rule.” After a pause, she asked, “Do you have a busy week next week?” effectively changing the subject. 

Heero nodded emphatically until he could swallow. “Always. With Duo gone, half our team on field duty at any given point in time, and our chief on maternity leave, there’s no other state than ‘busy.’”

“Do you like it?”

“Usually. I imagine I’m not the only one,” he said, glancing sidelong at her.

She smiled, impish. “So long as you make time to write.”

“I will, I will…”

“And you promise to show me how far you’ve gotten into that journal next time I see you.” She paused then, and Heero thought she looked suddenly worried, like she’d overstepped some invisible line. “There _will_ be a next time…right?” She kept her eyes downcast as she asked.

“Of course,” he told her without hesitation. She met his gaze then and smiled, her eyes still sad.

They spent the walk home in silence, her arm tucked into his while her head rested for much of the trek against his shoulder. She stayed close to him as they crossed the threshold back into the diplomatic enclave, and it seemed to him she was trying to draw strength from his proximity. He led her directly to her room and bid her good night, his thoughts reeling as he turned to go.

“Heero…” 

He paused in the hallway at the sound of his name. Turning back, he found her smiling, her eyes brimming with tears. Concerned, he took a step towards her and wondered if this was what it looked like to ‘overflow’ with emotion. 

Before he could speak, however, she darted forward and threw her arms over his shoulders. She pressed the briefest of kisses to his cheek and whispered, “Thank you. So much.”

He stood, uncertain, for a moment before his swirling thoughts came to rest on action, and he returned the embrace, his arms settling against her back. She sighed against him, her eyes buried in the crook of his neck, long lashes fluttering against his skin.

After a time, she withdrew, her arms coming down to take his hands in hers, giving them a gentle squeeze before disengaging entirely. As she retreated once more to her room, she asked, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

He nodded. “Sleep well. And Relena,” he added, waiting till her eyes met his once more. “Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Headcanon: I envision L4 colonies sporting riverwalks that flow through the colonies’ center, similar to Seoul’s [Cheonggyecheon](https://goo.gl/DGi1tX). It’s used as much for irrigation of the colonies' green spaces as it is for public morale.


	6. Chapter 6

**Unit #1312, Preventers HQ Subsidized Housing Complex  
Geneva, Switzerland  
199 April 9**

Duo was pulled slowly from sleep by the steady vibrations of his cell, which rattled insistently on the bedside table. He groaned and blinked at the clock that sat just beyond the device: 0146.

_God dammit…_

Wincing, he shut his eyes and groped blindly for the phone, sliding the screen lock with his thumb and bringing it up to his ear as the call connected. “Mr’ello?” he croaked into the receiver.

“I’m sorry but I didn’t know who to call.”

The flurry of words battered him into consciousness. “Wufei?” he asked, sitting upright in bed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” There was an unsettling silence on the other end. Fully awake, Duo tossed off the sheets and stood. “‘Fei, where are you?”

“I’m home,” came the shuddering reply.

“Are you safe?”

“I—” There was a gasping breath and then, “Yes.”

“Okay, tell me what happened.” _Please not homicide, please not homicide…_ he prayed, grabbing his jeans from off the floor and pulling them on. He balanced the phone against is ear with his shoulder as he worked the zipper and belt buckle.

“I’ve lost time.”

_Oh, shit._ “How much?”

“Three hours.”

_Oh, fuck._

Clearly Wufei had come to the same conclusion, if the unsteady breathing was an indication. 

Grabbing his keyring off of the dresser, he bid a hasty retreat to the front hall. “Okay, ‘Fei,” Duo began, sliding his feet into the black combat boots at the door. He switched his phone to the other ear and braced it with his shoulder once more in order to do the laces. “I’m on my way. I’ll stay on the phone ‘til I get there, alright?” 

Opening the door, he stepped out into the hallway only to curse under his breath, spinning back into the apartment to before the door could shut behind him. He darted over to the closet, pulling aside the sliding door and rummaging in his jacket pockets for his badge and wallet…just in case. Jurisdictional authority thus secured, he spun on his heel and exited a second time. 

Bounding down the stairwell for the street below, Duo headed for the tram station. “You’re in Ferney, right? On the other side of the airport?”

“Yeah.” The reply sounded hollow, automatic. Not good.

“One of those converted closets on the main drag, if I remember right.” When Wufei didn’t contradict him, he continued, apologetically, “There’s late night tram service, so it won’t be quick, but…” As he rounded the corner, he found a cab pulled up to the curb, lights dark. “Unless…hold on.” 

Duo jogged up to the side of the vehicle and rapped on the driver’s side window, which was lowered a few centimeters to the night air. The man started, blinking up at him through the smudged glass, wide-eyed. Before he could wave him off, Duo told him, “I know you’re off-duty, but I need to get to Ferney-Voltaire, _tout de suite_. Family emergency.”

The man’s resistance faltered as he gave him a once-over. With a nod, he started the car and Duo slid into the back with a word of gracious thanks.

The ride passed in a blur, the empty Geneva streets drifting passed them in shades of gray. Duo could hear himself babbling about anything and everything and registered the lack of response from the other end. Only on occasion would Wufei be able to offer single-syllable answers and this troubled him deeply. He didn’t want to think about it – thinking too hard would just instill a greater need to fill the empty air, he knew – but action. Yes, action he could do. 

“Turn right here,” Duo told the driver as they approached Rue de Meyrin. “You’re a block down from the halal place, right?” he asked Wufei, who gave another soft acknowledgement. “This is good,” he told the driver as they approached the stucco building in question. “Card okay?” The driver nodded with a yawn and Duo tapped his bank card against the reader mounted on the back of the seat in front of him. 

He thanked the driver again and stepped out into the night. Pulling his keys from his pocket, he crossed the street and flipped through the ring. “You’re on the third floor, right?” he asked the man on the other end. “Three…ten? Twelve?”

“Ten.”

“Alright,” Duo acknowledged, stepping into the building’s foyer and opening the doorway to the staircase with one of the keys. Taking the stairs two at a time, he closed the remaining distance to the apartment and informed Wufei, “Here,” moments before he unlocked the door and deadbolt and stepped inside. He toed off his boots with practiced fluidity and gave the other man a once-over as he ended the phone call and slipped his phone into his back pocket. 

Wufei slowly lowered his own device, almost as if he were in a daze. Or functioning strictly on muscle memory. He was pale, and looked as if he may have been shaking, but Duo couldn’t be sure. He wondered if it was shock, or if the episode alone could have rattled Wufei into such a sate.

Without much thought, Duo closed the remaining distance between them and threw his arms over the other man’s shoulders. Definitely shaking. “It’s okay, man,” he assured. “I’m here.”

When the other man did not respond to the embrace, he pulled back noticing the drying blood on the back of Wufei’s hands. “Jesus, what did you do to yourself?” he hissed, dropping into a crouch before the other man and taking Wufei’s hands in his own to more closely assess the damage. 

“I don’t remember,” came the curt reply.

Duo winced and glanced up at Wufei. “Yeah, guess that was a dumb question, huh? Sorry.” Standing, he whirled around and headed to the kitchen, tossing his badge and wallet on the small dining table as we went. “You still keep your kit in the kitchen, yeah?”

“Above the counter,” Wufei told him, just barely audible.

Opening the cabinet door, Duo withdrew the tightly packed First Aid kit and, popping the lid, skimmed through the contents. He then took a moment to rummage through the kitchen drawers, finding a towel which he quickly soaked under the faucet before returning to Wufei who had not moved from his perch on the couch arm. 

“Alright, lemmee see…” Duo told him, taking a seat on the coffee table. Wufei did not protest – which was disturbing in and of itself – but shifted to sit opposite the other man, offering up his right hand for inspection.

Taking the appendage in hand, Duo began to clean and dress the wounds. “Okay, ‘Fei. Walk me back. What is the last thing you remember?”

“Leaving the office,” Wufei answered.

“That was only three hours ago?” He glanced at his watch and corrected, “Well, probably three-and-a-half to four now.” He took note that Wufei was avoiding eye contact. Not good. “Why were you there so late?”

“We rotate shifts,” Wufei explained. “The past two weeks I’m on the later one.”

“You stressed about something more than usual?”

“No.”

“Read anything that would’ve triggered something?”

“No.”

“Still on your meds?” There was a pause, which Duo filled by setting Wufei’s newly bandaged hand down on his knee and pulled the other one to him. “Wufei?” he prompted.

“Yes, I’m still taking them.”

“Miss a dose?”

“No.”

“How do you—?”

“Because I flip the bottle over,” Wufei explained and there was a familiar bite in his voice that made Duo smile. He’d offended him.

“Alright, alright. Not the meds. Are you sleeping okay?”

Wufei grimaced. “Not…particularly.”

Duo looked up at that and found Wufei looking off to his right at the dark windows at the other end of the room. “Bad dreams?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Wufei admitted. “Sometimes not.”

“Okay,” Duo said, the sound coming more as an exhale than a word. “Let’s take stock of what we know.” Sitting back, he closed up the First Aid kit while Wufei assessed his field dressing skills. “Assuming you haven’t changed clothes…you’re not dripping wet, so you didn’t go for a swim in the lake. You also didn’t go off-roading since your pant cuffs are clean. The blood is limited to your hands, and based on the fact that you’ve got grit in your knuckles, I’d say you picked a fight with a wall and lost.

“How do you usually come home?” he asked as a follow-on. “Which entrance do you take to get into the building?”

“Back entrance. At the other end of the hall.”

“I’m going to investigate. Got a torch I can borrow?”

Wufei nodded and informed him, “Front hall closet,” with a weak wave of his injured hand.

Duo stood and headed to the door. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Retracing Wufei’s presumed steps to the stairwell down to the rear entrance, he exited out onto a back alley, the plaster walls flaking away from underlying brick and mortar. He directed the beam of his flashlight up onto the walls and slowly walked down one side of the alley and up the other. 

He didn’t have to go far, as it turned out. When Duo returned to the door, he found a conspicuous spatter of red. Straightening, he stretched his arm out, his fist connecting with the wall. The mark was a few centimeters above his hand, but then, Wufei was a little bit taller than him now. “What’d the wall ever do to you, ‘Fei?” he muttered to himself before snapping off the flashlight and re-entering the building.

“Good news: found your handiwork,” Duo said upon rejoining Wufei in the apartment. The other hadn’t moved from the couch, but had drawn his legs up to his chest, his head resting on his knees. Duo put the flashlight away, stepped out of his boots once again, and returned to his seat on the coffee table. “Wufei, I don’t think anyone is a victim of your time travel experience but you,” he said.

“Even if I walked home,” Wufei told him, “and spent 20-30 minutes trying to crush my knuckles, that’s still 60-90 minutes unaccounted for.”

“Shit ‘Fei, you could’ve sat in the stairwell crying for all we know. Focus on what we _can_ piece together.”

“A lot can happen in 60-90 minutes, Duo.”

After a beat, Duo asked him “Would you feel better if I scanned the police blotter?” Wufei nodded, not looking up at him. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his cell from his back pocket and pulled up the tracker. _Please not homicide…_ Skimming through, he felt the bud of relief growing in his belly. “Good news ‘Fei. No one is looking for a short, angry Chinese man.”

“Yet.”

Duo grit his teeth against his faltering optimism. “Yet. I’ll check again in the morning,” he acknowledged, slipping the device back into his back pocket and away from sight. 

“You’ll stay?” Wufei asked, seeming to claw himself out of his daze and register Duo’s implication.

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“But…your training…”

Duo waved off his concern. He shifted then from the table to the other end of the small couch, spreading out to accommodate the empty space Wufei had left. “I’m closer to flight line here than I am from home. I’ve got all the stuff I need in the locker at the hangar. Although, I’ll likely be in a flight suit all day, so it won’t much matter.”

A quiet came over them both then and Duo was for once willing to let it grow and fill the room, alone as they were with their own thoughts. At last, he asked, gently, “Wufei…has this happened before?”

There was a heavy pause, and then, “Yes.”

When he offered no further explanation, Duo pressed, “When?”

“A few years back. It happened…more frequently then. After the war.”

“But before Preventers.” Wufei nodded, and so Duo continued, “‘Fei, tomorrow…call in sick and go to your doctor to get your head checked, okay? And text me the results when you get them.” Duo turned to look at the other man and, seeing the uncertainty in those dark eyes, added, “For me? Consider it a favor.”

At this, Wufei grit his teeth – setting his resolve – and nodded. 

They parted ways the next morning. Duo was uncharacteristically subdued – his instructor eyed him with suspicion, his team repeatedly checking his well-being. He went through the motions, stayed focused on the task at hand…but when his team finally was relieved around mid-afternoon, he bolted to his locker. Withdrawing his phone, he opened the messages Wufei had sent while he was still in the air or otherwise occupied in the seminar room.

\----------------------------------------------------------------  
0904: At lab. Fifth in line. Who knew possible head trauma was so popular on a Thursday morning.  
0908: Thank you again, for last night.   
0909: Please don’t mention this to the others.  
1232: Scans are back. All clear.  
1300: I have an appointment with The Good Doctor this afternoon to figure out course of action.  
1312: PS: don’t crash anything. Aircraft are expensive.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------


	7. Chapter 7

**Unit #4, Housing Block 2  
Mars Terra Forming Colonial Outpost  
199 May 22**

“Your connection’s shit.”

Noin chuckled under her breath at the reproach, confident the sound would not be picked up over the vid feed. Sally was right after all. “Hey, no one consulted _me_ when they were setting up Mars’ infrastructure.” 

“This is what happens when you don’t shell out for shiny Winner satlinks and go with some knock-off brand.”

“Your constructive criticism is as astute as ever, Sally.”

“And that’s why they pay me the big money.” Even with the shoddy connection, Noin could hear the sarcasm dripping from her friend’s voice. “How are you, Noin? How are things?”

Noin reflected for a moment. It had been almost two and a half years since they fled the Earth’s surface for the remote, fledgling terraforming colony on Mars. Zechs had cut his hair en route – one final act of severed ties which made her heart ache – and they’d arrived to new lives, new names, and a new world they’d help build.

She settled on, “Things are good. Zechs is on the early shift now, so we don’t see much of each other. The foreman keeps us both busy.”

“Probably so you don’t start shit.”

“Or have babies,” Noin countered. “We’re a long way from pre-natal care.”

It appeared as if Sally winced, seemingly reprimanded. “I’m sorry, Lu.”

Noin shook her head and dismissed the concern with a flick of her wrist. “It’s fine, Sally – we’ve got plenty of our lives yet ahead of us. Someday. But someday isn’t today, and that’s alright.”

“Just make sure that you’re happy,” Sally urged. “The moment you stop loving life out in the boondocks, tearing up the planet’s surface to make room for biodomes, you sit him down for a long talk.”

“Duly noted,” Noin acknowledged. Shifting gears, she asked, “What about you, huh? Still fighting the good fight with your trusty sidekick?”

“I am, yes. But Wufei now has his nose stuck in an assessment log with the rest of the analysts.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize he had transferred.” The idea of Zhang Wufei in a suit and tie didn’t mesh with her vision of him. “Why’d he leave the field?”

Sally shrugged, non-committal, but then admitted, “I was reluctant to let him go. He was one of my best, but….but I think he’s happier now, and that’s certainly for the best for everyone involved. Happy G-Boys make for healthy, well-rounded G-Men after all.”

“What have you been up to without your primary source of exploding diversions?”

Sally laughed hard at that. “Well, my eardrums have certainly been happier. But I’m actually in line for a promotion.”

“Well shit, congrats!”

Sally shrugged again. “Up or out, I suppose. But I’d be managing our activities for all of Africa, so…lots of travel, not as much of the nitty gritty.”

“You’re a good leader, Sal. You’ll be great.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. My review board is later this week.”

“It’ll be fine,” Noin assured, then added, “just don’t tell anyone to go to hell.”

“Easier said than done, but I’ll endeavor not to.”

“So what’s next after this? Chief of Staff to a Deputy and then the Directorship?”

“Don’t even joke.”

Noin laughed, confiding, “Of all the people Une would be willing to hand the reins over to, you are certainly high on the list.”

“This isn’t a secure line. Stop giving away my plans for world domination.”

But Noin was sure that Preventers would do right by putting Sally in charge. The other woman had the uncanny ability to earn and keep the loyalty of those under her, had little patience for bureaucracy, and had a mind for action and accountability alike. 

“Speaking of career tracks,” Sally said, interrupting Noin’s thoughts. “I have news on your girl.”

Noin sat upright at this. “Tell me.”

“Miss Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian has changed portfolios and has relocated to the L4 cluster. In recent months, she’s been rubbing elbows with colonial elites, visiting elementary schools, and hosting roundtables with young professionals.”

“L4?” Noin mused. “Is Quatre there?”

“He is indeed, so she’s got an ally on the inside. She’ll do good work there, I think. But L4’s a bit like pushing on an open door – they’re business people after all.”

“Do you think she made the wrong choice, transferring to a receptive colony?”

“Hardly,” Sally reassured. “If she does well there, she has a bright future. She’ll be back in Geneva launching motions left and right in no time.”

“That your honest assessment?”

“It is indeed. Relena knows what she’s doing. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s got guts and – with Quatre on her side – guns too.”

Noin laughed and sat back in her chair. Relena was well. She wondered if Zechs would want to know, but figured probably not. He’d only come out of the shadows when she was in danger…but even then, it hadn’t just been Relena – it’d been the threat to peace itself that had drawn him out. Later, as they’d been making the long voyage to Mars, he had confided that he estimated that she had been in no immediate danger, wagering Dekim had needed her legitimacy for his scheme to succeed. 

“But how could you leave her to _Dekim_?” Noin had demanded, furious. With haunted eyes, he responded he had wagered his sister’s safety on two additional factors: first that she was a survivor, and second…that Heero Yuy would be the first to get to her. She had had difficulty arguing the matter with him after this admission, given how the events that Christmas had played out.

“How are the others?” Noin asked Sally, pulling herself back into the present.

“I don’t hear much about Trowa, but I suspect he’s still around. Quatre is wheeling and dealing in true L4 fashion. Duo is training to be one of our EXFIL pilots—”

“Not surprising.”

“Not in the least. Heero…” Sally paused for a moment, considering her words. “Heero is still in the field. I see him on occasion at HQ. Although, I heard from a reliable source that he visited Relena not too long ago.”

“Good.”

“Quite,” Sally said, echoing Noin’s sentiment. “I think it’d be good for them to move on from the whole, ‘We only see each other when there’s a global crisis’ thing.”

“Relena needs friends her own age. Too many graybeards is unhealthy.”

“Agreed. Maybe he can help her get _into_ trouble from here on out.”

“One can only hope.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Cirque Ste-Croix, Staff Trailers  
L1-M10202  
199 July 3**

Trowa wasn’t entirely sure what set him off more – the fact that Quatre was among the top colonial bachelors or that, when confronted, he’d defended the interview as a viable advertising strategy thought up by WEI’s PR team. 

He’d gone to rehearsal angry, which never bode well for the day. The manager made him call it in about two hours shy of quitting time when his grip slipped on the silks and his right hip bore the brunt of the fall. He’d hobbled back to his trailer only to cross the threshold, bury his face in his hands, and scream in frustration.

_Fucking Quatre Winner. God fucking dammit._

But being alone did little to assuage his sour thoughts. He berated himself for the possessive spark of jealousy brewing in his belly, but at the same time was wholly unable to quench it. 

They had been doomed from the beginning, he knew, and it had been a pipe dream to assume otherwise. It’d been a means to an end when it started in ‘95: a respite from the loneliness and the threat of almost certain death. He’d sought comfort in a warm, sympathetic body while Quatre had written all of the sins of a prodigal son into his skin.

It had worked for a time, to Trowa’s surprise and occasional exasperation. But then he made a fatal mistake: he’d started to care, and he believed Quatre had too. It’d nearly cost them both dearly.

But when peace came…they’d slipped into this echo of what had been – an unspoken, familiar contract wherein they sought one another out when the world around them grew too loud, too much for them to handle. But it was only at these times, an odd, self-serving release of mutual convenience.

And they’d never been mutually exclusive, something which Trowa was beginning to suspect was more directed at a shared fear of a long, painful conversation than it was recognition of distance and time spent apart. And although the nomadic life was a familiar path, dancing between chance encounters and momentarily pleasures, he knew in his gut that if Quatre Winner asked him to stop…he would. That knowledge was equal parts exhilarating and disconcerting. He was caught in a gravitational pull that he had little wherewithal to escape. The damage had been done four years ago.

And yet…and yet there was a callousness between them now, and Trowa felt as if the boy he’d fallen for was slipping away, treading a dark, solitary path on which he had no hope to follow.

And now…

And now…

Trowa ran his hands up into his hair, fisting the auburn strands that slipped between his fingers before letting his arms drop to his sides, defeated. And now…he’d go put ice on this bruises and try to not think of Quatre Winner. And then tomorrow, he’d start over again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Preventers Headquarters  
Geneva, Switzerland  
199 August 21**

Wufei sighed and dropped his head back against the guest chair in Heero’s cubicle. They had made lunch plans when Heero had heard that he would be coming to the “mothership” from the intel division’s branch office. But – judging by the immaculate status of the other man’s work station – Heero was currently MIA. Wufei loathed tardiness more than most, but Yuy was not the type to keep guests waiting without good reason, and so he granted him some latitude – a privilege few enjoyed. 

It wasn’t as if he had somewhere else to be, truth be told. He was pulling the night shift these few weeks, and his workday had in fact ended at 1000 that morning. He had gotten himself an espresso to pull through to the lunch window, but the caffeine high was beginning to ebb.

He registered movement from behind him. Straightening, he watched a flustered Heero Yuy approach and slide past him into the cubicle.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Heero told him, slipping off his shoulder bag and tossing it onto his desk chair.

Wufei shrugged. “I had to drop off a report with your boss. And my shift ended a couple hours ago.”

He thought he saw Heero wince at the latter. “I am very sorry I’m late,” he amended. Not bothering to sit down or take off his trench coat, he gestured for Wufei to follow him back out of the office space. “I don’t even want to open my email. So…ano…food, yes?”

Wufei snorted at the brisk tone. Apparently whatever had held Heero up did more damage to the other man’s charted itinerary than expected. “Yes, food,” Wufei responded in kind. “Here or out?”

“Out would probably be easier,” Heero noted, glancing at his watch. Wufei nodded and stood, gesturing for Heero to lead the way back out of the cubicle farm.

They fled the Preventers’ main campus for the cluster of cafes which had populated the surrounding neighborhood. They slid easily into an empty table at one such establishment and ordered. Once their waiter fled back into the kitchen from whence he’d come, Wufei gave into his curiosity. “So where were you?” Wufei asked. “It didn’t look like you’d come in at all until just now.”

“I didn’t – I was down at the consulate doing an interview to renew my work visa.”

“Don’t we have an office that does that?”

“We do,” Heero conceded. “But I don’t trust them with my sole form of legitimate documentation on Earth.”

“Touché,” Wufei acknowledged. “When does it expire?”

“The passport expires in January. The Preventers work visa is two years. I need both, and assumed the process will take longer than usual.”

Wufei did the math and smirked. “Are you still riding on your ‘M’ docs?”

The corner of Heero’s mouth twitched – almost a smile. “One of them.” He shrugged off the laughter this garnered from Wufei. “It could be worst,” he confided. “Duo has to reapply every year.”

This caught Wufei by surprise. “You’re kidding.”

Heero shook his head. “Since he started working with the Preventers, he doesn’t have to go sit in the administrative office and wait for hours on end for an interview, but he still has to fill in his paperwork and give them his passport.

“It’s funny,” Heero continued, “how they can open the borders, but can still impose quotas on who all can come in and when. Quatre’s papers are valid for five years because L4 cut a deal. The rest of us aren’t so lucky.”

Their waiter returned with their meals, and their conversation shifted – Heero asked him about work, about Sally’s promotion ceremony; Wufei asked him about Duo’s progress in the EXFIL program and whether he’d kept comms with his “friend in L4” (noting that Heero referred to Relena only as “she”). Wufei couldn’t recall when these meals had become the norm, only that they were now a regular event in the months since Duo had made himself scarce. There were times Wufei wondered which one of them needed the recurrence more.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from your desk,” Wufei confided as he tucked into his meal. He’d skipped breakfast and was starving.

Heero shook his head. “It’s fine – I can’t get into the system anyway, seeing as my certificates were suspended.”

“Why were your certs turned off?” Wufei asked, aghast. 

Across the table, Heero fidgeted, his eyes locked on his salad. He stabbed at a tomato with uncharacteristic aggression. “The drives went down and IT was taking forever to get them back up and running,” Heero told him, “so I built a back-door.”

Wufei stared at him, wide-eyed, convinced he’d heard wrong. When Heero offered no further clarification, he asked, “You often hack the Preventers database?”

“Well…” Heero began, glancing up to stare somewhere off over Wufei’s shoulder as he considered it, “not _‘often…’”_

Wufei sighed. “I’m going to strategically forget we had this conversation.”

“As if you’ve never considered it. Every time someone is a victim of a spear phishing attack, you can’t tell me you don’t weigh the pros of getting your own system quarantined and back online versus the chances of getting caught by IT.”

Wufei pursed his lips and admitted, “Well now that you put it that way…”

“Like last week, when the whole server went down for most of the day on Wednesday because of some ‘unidentified’ intrusion.” Heero said. “I’m convinced it was the Russians, by the way.”

“You think they found out about that compliance report I’m working on?”

“No, we can’t let Zhang Wufei do research on our disarmament and verification practices. There must be a way to stop him.”

“If Duo were here, he’d say this is why we can’t have nice things.”

“He probably wouldn’t be too far off the mark, either.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Large Auditorium, Preventers Headquarters  
Geneva, Switzerland  
199 December 17**

The induction ceremony had been conducted with a suitable sobriety as Preventers graduated another ten EXFIL teams into their established ranks. The magnitude of what that entailed weighed heavily on some of those assembled, judging by the faces of the new pilots on the stage. 

Others less so, Heero determined as his eyes drifted back to Duo. The young man had a distant air about him, apparently lost in thought as he sat amongst a cluster of other fresh faced graduates. The speaker had explained that each grouping indicated a crew, a team, which would conduct missions together for the foreseeable future. 

Duo only roused from his dazed state when the program director called him and one other forward to receive a commendation that pegged them as the class’s de facto ace pilots. As Duo had returned to his seat, the tall blond woman who sat next to him – his co-pilot, if Heero understood the seating assignments correctly – leaned over to whisper something to him. From this distance, Heero could just barely read her lips, “Look, you got a shiny thing!” Duo pressed his lips into a thin line as he shot her a look, but the corners of his mouth had turned upward. The young comms officer behind him had a harder time keeping a straight face.

When the ceremony closed, Heero bid a hasty retreat to their designated meeting place in the corner of reception hall, near the emergency exit. He watched the throng of people grow and clutched his cellphone, which remained silent in his hand, like a life preserver. Thankfully, Duo appeared soon after the crowd parted for the wave of graduates, weaving and dodging his way across the room to him.

Now that he had a good look, Heero couldn’t help but comment, “So they _do_ have dress uniforms.” Duo looked down ta himself at that, clad in a slate blue suit and dark tie. Identifiably not civilian, but not quite military either. Heero realized with a plummeting stomach that Duo wore it rather well. “The others send their regards,” he said, refocusing his thoughts. 

Duo smiled and told him, “I need to call Trowa and Quatre once I figure out what time zone they’re each in. Wufei owes me a dinner.”

Heero nodded and held out a hand. “Can I see?”

Duo glanced at him for a moment, confused. Then realization dawned and he passed the award to his roommate with a muttered, “Oh. Sure.” As Heero opened the thin, velvet box and studied the plaque, Duo began, hesitant, “Heero…is this okay? Flying combat support and all…?”

Heero snapped the lid shut on the award and clutched it to his ribs as if he could use it to still the concern that was screwing itself into his bone marrow. “It’s ‘peacekeeping,’” he corrected, which earned him an embarrassed smile. “Given the award, I’d say it’s more than ‘okay.’”

Duo’s eyes were again focused somewhere between them while he nodded. When he raised his gaze to meet Heero’s, his lips parted as if to speak –

“Hey, Madhatter!” 

Duo winced visibly and groaned at a quickly approaching group of pilots, “Oh, can we please kill this before it becomes a thing?” Even with the grimace, he clasped the outstretched hand of the older man – who Heero assumed was the one who had spoken – firmly enough. A colleague, Heero judged, but not a crewmate. “I do have an actual call sign, you know…”

The man ignored him, but turned to Heero and said, “You have no idea what this kid pulled.”

“What did he do?” Heero asked, cutting in before Duo could stifle the other pilots.

“So this lunatic takes off for the final test series, right?” the man began. “Thirty seconds into it, his stabilizers go. Bam! Gone. And just as he’s getting orders to ground the ship, one of his engines lights up. _Foom_!” At this, Heero slowly turned his eyes to lock Duo in his sights. He caught a furtive glance his direction from the other man seconds before Duo found something fascinating on the floor. “The entire time, the instructor is ordering him to ground the ship,” the other pilot was saying, “and this nutjob shouts right back over the intercom some nonsense about not operating on ideal circumstances in the field anyway, and has the gall to tell the guy that he’s gonna complete the course with or without the order to do so.”

The man paused to shake his head, and clapped Duo’s shoulder soundly. “Well fuck us all sideways if he didn’t. The kid completes the whole damn series in an awe-inspiring display of textbook flying. Fucking _textbook_. And that,” he concluded, giving Duo a sound shake, “is why you are certifiably _Mad_.”

“I prefer my _officially designated_ call sign if it’s the same to you all,” Duo muttered. The assembled pilots laughed and waved him off. Duo’s co-pilot stepped forward and Heero was surprised to find she towered a good head and shoulders over them both. She told him they were heading downtown for drinks. After much prodding – and a not-so-gentle punch to the arm – Duo acquiesced and she retreated, albeit with threats of retribution if he “flaked” on them all.

After a moment of sudden silence following the group’s departure, Heero prompted his roommate, “You really lost your stabilizers…and one of your engines?”

“Both within sixty seconds of take-off, yes,” Duo admitted, apparently feeling a bit sheepish.

“And you still completed the course.”

At last, Duo looked up and met his gaze. He must have found something he liked, because his smile returned. “Full marks.”

Heero smirked at that. “I would expect nothing less.” Duo bit his lip and fidgeted a bit before opening his mouth to say something – but the second attempt was similarly foiled by someone calling his name from behind. “Go on,” Heero urged, waving off the other man’s uncertainty and turned to walk away. “I’ll see you at the apartment,” he added over his shoulder, the velvet-wrapped award feeling heavy in his hands.


End file.
